


Dearest Uncle, a Letter To All the Dead Things

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Gen, a brief vomit metaphor, and asks all the questions he couldn't ask, and its not the train crash dw, and the ones he didn't know he had, blood tw, canonical though, caspian writes a letter to the man who raised him, death tw, the ones he didn't know how to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: (Do you remember?There was once an Usurpator-King, and with his iron stained hands, he’d slain a witch, mercilessly.There was once a Statue-Queen, and she’d lain in all the land’s arms, so heavy her jewellery that she could scarcely bare it.There was once a Beast-King, with teeth as sharp as knives, his back a map of all the battles he’d won.There was once a Fae-Queen, her laughter a shriek of mockery, dancing barefoot with all the things that rob infants from their cradles.)





	Dearest Uncle, a Letter To All the Dead Things

Uncle, dearest, do you know of all the things I’ve muted and hidden somewhere between my ribs and my heart? Uncle, dearest, have you heard of all the things I’ve spat at the floor, like rotting bile seeping through the cracks and sticking to my lips? Uncle, dearest, can you see all the things I’ve learned, cowering in the woods, between beasts and nursery rhymes? 

(Do you remember? _There was once an Usurpator-King, and with his iron stained hands, he’d slain a witch, mercilessly. There was once a Statue-Queen, and she’d lain in all the land’s arms, so heavy her jewellery that she could scarcely bare it. There was once a Beast-King, with teeth as sharp as knives, his back a map of all the battles he’d won. There was once a Fae-Queen, her laughter a shriek of mockery, dancing barefoot with all the things that rob infants from their cradles._ )   
  
Uncle, dearest, you’re a liar. A coward and a liar and **they’re alive**. They’ve always been. They’re here, and they breathe our air, and they look at this blood stained soil and they could draw you a map of all the loves they’ve lost, could paint a path from where their blood has been shed to the blemishes on your skin.   
  
Uncle, dearest, you’ve lied to me all my life. I’ve seen things you’ve declared dead, long gone, and fantasy. I’ve met a thousand years of history and I’ve seen such pain, such fury, in a single strike of the sword you told me wasn’t real. Uncle, dearest, you’ve told me of the horrors. You’ve never told me of the Gentle’s soft, worried hands, the echo of a mother’s love. You’ve never told me of the Valiant’s dancing feet, the joy in her every freckle. You’ve never told me of the Magnificent’s trembling hands, a map of all he has lived to see - to kill. And you’ve never told me of the Just’s calm shoulders, or the Green, like trees in his eyes, you’ve never told me of the flowers in his hair.   
  
Uncle, dearest, you’ve never told me of the soft things, of the cracks in their bones, and the humanity in between the magic and the legends and the witch’s claws. You’ve never told me of the dancing, and the flowers, and the love gleaming just beneath their skin. You’ve never told me of Susan, with her hair in braids, her lips painted red. You’ve never told me of Peter, with his armour too big, the world too heavy on his shoulders. You’ve never told me of Lucy, with her ginger hair in sharp edges at her jaw. You’ve never told me of Edmund.   
  
Uncle, I wonder - did you know, when the Just came to deliver the challenge and await your response, proud and calm, with peace and a threat looming in his eyes, that it would be the last duel you would ever fight?   
  
I did not cry, Uncle, when I drove the sword through your chest. Uncle, dearest, you’ve lied to me all my life - Narnia is alive, and breathing, at last, now that your heart has stopped and your hands have unclenched.   
  
Uncle, _descansa en paz._   
  
Narnia, _vive de nuevo._


End file.
